Attacks On Mirkwood
by Black Lothlorien
Summary: :: sigh :: I am VERY tempted to just delete this story and start totally over after the first chapter. Legolas seems to be having the worst time surviving while accompanying Aragorn and Gimli. Please read the entire story before you review! PLEASE!
1. Prequel

Disclaimer: Yeah, I know the drill. Nothing in this story belongs to me except the situation (more or less). Everything else belongs to the Tolkien family.

In this story, I kind of took maybe half an hour and just jotted down my idea, and I decided that it sounded pretty cool, so I decided to post it. R&R please. This is, as the title says, only one of my many Legolas Prequel ideas.

Attacks On Mirkwood: One of Many Prequels

By Lothlórien (a.k.a. Andromeda)

The elven prince moved silently through the midnight woods, his feet utterly silent. His bow was at the ready, with a perfectly straight arrow, made by his own hands, nocked. Orcs, evil ones lorded over by Sauron himself, had been seen prowling in this area of Mirkwood.

He knew that there were ten other elves flanking him, but they could not see or hear him. He didn't care whether they could see and hear him, for his mind was set on one thing.

Run the orcs out of his home.

"Prince Legolas," A fellow elf walked up behind him silently. He heard her coming, but kept his eyes ahead, "I come back from scouting. There are several orcs, a hunting band most likely."

"Thank you," He listened as she fell back into line.

The orcs soon came into view, huddled around their campfires, murmuring in their crude, rough language.

Legolas gave the signal to be at the ready. He knew that they would not attack unless attacked first. And he would not provoke an attack. There was a vague chance, his father hoped, that they were simply passing through.

A tracker orc, recognizable by its enormous nose, sniffed. At first, a feeling of worry flashed across the elven prince's mind, and then the orc just sniffed again, as if it had a cold.

Legolas relaxed, but only slightly. He heard something in the bushes behind him and spun.

An orc dove out of the bushes, a silent snarl on its face. Its evil sword flashed through the air. The sword dug itself into the tree beside Legolas' head.

"Elf!" The orc rasped loudly, right before Legolas killed it with a swift blow to the neck with his long-knife.

The sounds of snarling battle erupted, in the clearing and the surrounding woods. Arrows flew, and were both orcish and elven. Blades sang, being both the ragged hook-ended blades of Mordor and the keen, elegant sword blades of Mirkwood.

Legolas dove under one orc's blade and decapitated it with a swift slice. His bow would not be of much use, for he had been pulled into the very center of the brawl. 

"My friends—!" Legolas heard the death cry of one of his elven friends. He was filled with a burning fury, for he recognized it as the voice of Kyrire, the same elf who had served at his bedside during injury.

"Kyrire!" He tore his bow from his back and let loose with a barrage. When his mind finally cleared, his quiver was empty. His eyes widened as he realized that his bow was useless.

He strapped his bow to his back and unsheathed his long-knives just in time to avoid being killed. He blocked attack after attack. He knew that they would never tire, for such was the way of Mordor.

"Ah—!" Another friend, his weapons gone and a blade coming swiftly down, was in dire trouble. Legolas dove, in the process, placing himself between the orcish blade and his friend.

A swipe knocked the blade away, and someone else's arrow killed the vile creature.

"Are you all right?" Legolas asked the fallen elf.

"My side—I may have broken bones," An earlier wound bloodied the moss green clothing of the elven archer.

"Come, I will carry you to safety," Legolas quickly pulled the elf to his feet and carried him as quickly as he could out of the battlefield. He set him in a tree's hollow, so that he would be safe until the fight was over.

When the elven prince had returned to the battle, most elves had retreated to the safety of the tree branches. They shot their arrows from there. It seemed that there were more than just seven orcs after all.

An orc saw him survey the battle. While Legolas was distracted by a different orc's arrow, the ugly being snuck up behind the elf, ready to bring his sword down.

An elven arrow found the orc's throat before the blow could be felled. But the elven prince's savior was too late.

Legolas spun to see the attacking orc fall to his face, the evil sword clattering to the ground. She turned back to the battle just in time to feel a black arrow pierce his chest.

"Prince Legolas!" An elf who had served by Legolas' side for many, many years, named Ulein, dove out of his tree. He pushed away the attacking orc with as much strength as he could muster.

The hulking orc just laughed and strung another arrow into his bow.

Two more elves dropped from the trees and helped him pulled the orc away. The orcish arrow flew crookedly through the air, thudding into the ground beside the elven prince.

The orcs began to retreat once the large, hulking orc had been killed, leaving the other elves to rush to the prince's aid.

He collapsed into the arms of two friends, who immediately lifted him onto an elven steed. The elf whose life he saved stood ready to lead the horse back to the forest home.

Thranduil stayed by his son's side as long as he could spare, until he awoke.  Legolas was confused as to what had happened.

"Father, I—" Legolas cut himself off with a groan. He lay back on the pillow, his hand going to the bandage around his chest.

"Rest. You were shot in the chest and the arrow nearly pierced your lung," Thranduil stood, silently, emotionlessly, "You need to rest, son. I have received word that Lord Elrond Half-Elven is holding a Council in Rivendell."

Legolas was confused, and pain clouded his mind. Every breath was an agony in itself…

"I want you to be the envoy of the Elves of Mirkwood," Thranduil said, pouring his son a drink of a pain-numbing tea, "You will need all your strength, for Rivendell is far over the Misty Mountains."

"If Elrond is holding Council without much prior notice, it must be very important," Legolas took the cup, but did not drink, "If it is important, then dwarves will be there."

"Of that you can be sure," Thranduil touched the door handle, "I will leave you to your thoughts. If you wish to be our envoy, though I do not relish the thought, you will have to leave within the next few days."

The elven kings left the room, closing the door behind him. Legolas set the cup down on the bedside table and lay back, allowing pain and dreams to drag him into darkness.

He dreamed of nothing but the fight. It haunted him, but he fought against the pain, refusing to let it consume him.

He, and only he, knew that the arrow had been poisoned.

A few days later…

Legolas sat up straight in his horse as they rode through the mountain pass. This way was treacherous, but there was no other good way to get to Rivendell with speed. The wound in his chest throbbed, as if angry.

His father had been reluctant to let him go, and Legolas knew that if he told him about the poison that he was now fighting, he would miss this opportunity.

"Master Legolas," One of the others rode up beside him, "Are we to be taking the rode through Rohan?"

Legolas noticed that, while he was thinking, His horse had begun to lead them towards the pass over Caradhras. He snapped back to attention.

"If this were a different situation, Arandusin, yes, but if this council is as important as it seems, we would make much better time by going over Caradhras," Legolas thought through the decision carefully, "Yes, we will leave our horses at—"

His voice trailed off as they began to ride again, this time galloping, for strength had returned to their steeds. They made it to a small village almost at sundown.

The owner of one of the inns, the Branching Tree, had long been an elf friend, providing lodging for the elves that passed through frequently.

Legolas sat on his bed. The room that they had received was large with a huge fireplace. Each bed was separated from the others by a thin wall. Other than that, there was no ceiling or door.

He carefully shed his tunic and over shirt, revealing the carefully applied bandage. He had left the supper table early to treat his wound.

It was a deep injury, a few inches below his collarbone on the right side. The skin flamed a sickly red around the partially healed gash. The bandage that Legolas had tied himself was made for concealment, not comfort.

"Master Legolas?" Arandusin entered the room on the far end of the room.

"Yes?" Legolas paused.

"There is something outside that perhaps you should see," The tall elf's footsteps approached, and then stopped, "There is a band of orc that are camping outside the village."

"I will be out in a few minutes," Legolas thought, then changed his mind, "No, Arandusin."

"Yes, sir?"

"Ignore them," Legolas said, "if they attack, protect the villagers. But do nothing. Do not spy, do not taunt, nothing. We will let them be."

"But—" Arandusin began.

"We are on an important journey, Arandusin, and we must not be hindered by an incident such as this," Legolas moved to replace the slightly soiled bandage over his chest, "Now, leave. I would rest before our run tomorrow."

Arandusin left, closing the door behind him. 

Legolas laid back on his bed after slipping on a sleepshirt. Out of habit, he tucked it into his pants.

His mind began to whirl with pain. Every night, once the sun set, his wound began to hurt, worse and worse since the night they left. He knew that there was a reason for it, but he dared not tell anyone.

He would receive all the healing needed once he reached Rivendell.

Legolas awoke to the snapping of a twig outside the inn. Such a thing wouldn't have awakened him normally, but the pain in his chest made it hard to sleep.

Quickly, quietly, he changed into his regular traveling tunic and over shirt. He grabbed his long-knives, and then thought better of it. If it was just a child, he wouldn't want to frighten them.

On the other hand, if it was an orc…

He took a pair of small, thin knives and fitted them into sheaths in his boots. He never normally used these blades, but tonight could be an exception.

The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open, but not loudly enough to wake the others. He descended the stairs into the silent inn's tavern room.

An evil feeling of foreboding fell over him and he ran back up the stairs, three at a time. He quickly roused the others, and, without needing an explanation, they were running on foot over the field towards Caradhras.

They heard some commotion at the inn soon after they left. A high, shrill cry told them that they orcs had attacked.

Darkness was thick and the moon was new that night. Very little starlight guided their footsteps as they ran. Legolas' chest throbbed worse and worse with every breath until he was forced to stop.

Arandusin, who had been taking up the rear, noticed his pain. A whispered word called them all to halt.

Legolas slumped against a tree, grimacing in pain. His chest ached so badly—he could not think…

"Master Legolas!" Someone cried out as he nearly collapsed, "We left before the attack! How could he have been injured?"

"I do not know, Durian," Arandusin held the elven prince up.

Legolas breathed hard, trying to pull his thoughts together. The pain was so much… "I—I can run. We must get to Caradhras soon."

"My prince, tell us what has happened," Durian asked.

"All will be told—when we reach Rivendell," Those were the last words out of Legolas' mouth before he collapsed into darkness.

Many days later, they reached Rivendell. During the day, Legolas could ride as well as any elf, but at night, pain overtook him and pulled him down, into blackness.

He surveyed the majestic home of Elrond Half-Elven, searching for a particular face. Soon, Elrond himself joined them at the gate.

"My lord, I have a request to make," Legolas bowed.

"I already know, Legolas, son of Thranduil," Elrond smiled only briefly, "Your father sent word of your injury and sickness on the wings of a falcon. Come, I will see to your healing."

Though he was confused, Legolas followed, leaving his recovered horse to his companions. As he followed, he glanced up to a balcony and saw four small figures, accompanied by a taller, grey cloaked figure.

That was the first time he ever saw Frodo Baggins.

And it would not be the last.


	2. During the Fellowship...

Attacks on Mirkwood 2: During Fellowship  
  
By Lothlórien  
  
Legolas was still tired from his healing when the Council was called to order. His temper ran short this morning, as did his tolerance for the apparent stupidity and clumsiness of the Dwarves. Already he had found himself caught in an awkward situation with the Lord Gloin's son, Gimli.  
  
He had been nursing his arm in the large garden, waiting for Lord Elrond to call him to the healing. The pain had begun to be felt more and more during the day, so Elrond had to accelerate his schedule.  
  
The Dwarven entourage had passed before him. He had respect, even for Dwarves, so he stood, still while cradling his white bandaged arm. Gimli had let out a slight chuckle as he passed by, his smirk hidden under his large beard.  
  
Legolas had taken it with some dignity at least. Soon after the group had passed, the recklessness of his far gone youngest youth caused him to snatch up a small stone and he threw it after the chuckling dwarf. He disappeared into the elegant trees long before the dwarf spun in indignity.  
  
Now Legolas sat in the Council circle, waiting. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately...  
  
Elrond began, and, again, Legolas was amazed the apparent stupidity of the Dwarves. A couple times he exploded into words at the Human, Boromir, and then Gimli had made that statement about the Ring coming to an Elf.  
  
Even while his fellow Elves, who had traveled with him all the way from Mirkwood, exploded around him, he sighed, embarrassed to be part of this. He held his friends back from physical violence, but their words, he could not block. Even while they fought, along with the Humans and Rivendell Elves, he felt a wave of evil, like a flame, fall over him.  
  
The Frodo had jumped forward.  
  
It seemed as if he was growing younger by the minute. His mindless devotion of his skills to the small hobbit may have seemed to be reckless to others, but it ensured that the Dwarves would not somehow end up with the Ring in their possession. All Legolas did to say good-bye to his friends was a quick wrist clasp after the Council had begun to end.  
  
Even as he said good-bye, he felt eyes on him. Not only was Elrond watching him in interest, but the Dwarf Gimli and his father stood by, seemingly waiting. Gimli didn't appear to be pleased, but Gloin had a tight hold on the back of his son's belt  
  
"Master Elf, may we have a word?" Gloin called him over after the farewells had been given and received.  
  
"Lord Gloin," Legolas nodded his head and raised his arm to his opposite shoulder in a sign of respect.  
  
"I understand that you and my son will be traveling on this quest together, perhaps for a long while," Gloin sniffed, "I would like to be sure that my impulsive son and the son of the Elf that imprisoned me so long ago would not kill each other while saving Middle-Earth."  
  
Legolas raised an eyebrow. He had heard the stories about his father imprisoning Thorin Oakenshield and Company, but he had been gone from Mirkwood at the time.  
  
"I will not cause him harm," Legolas agreed, but Gimli merely grunted. Legolas' eyes twinkled, "I must be ready when it is time to leave Rivendell. Peace, Lord Gloin."  
  
Legolas knew that the fact that they were both the sons of two being who had hated each other must make Gimli very angry. He would have to walk softly around this Dwarf.  
  
Outside Moria...  
  
Legolas heard Frodo's cry behind him. Tentacles, too many moving too fast to count, had snatched the hobbit up and were hauling him towards a mouth of many teeth. Aragorn and Boromir were already moving fast.  
  
Legolas drew the other hobbits into the entrance and nocked an arrow, as fast as lightning. He released them at Boromir's cry.  
  
When Frodo fell, Boromir hurried to get him to the shore. Legolas snatched his cloak and carried him to his feet. A waving, slimy tentacle caught him on the calf, but the stinging pain soon passed.  
  
The gates collapsed behind them, leaving the Fellowship in the blackness of Khazad-Dûm. Legolas was very uneasy about this prospect, so his grip on his bow became almost death-like, and his knuckles turned almost white. He hated being underground.  
  
It was the worst kind of torture. And to think that they would be in this blackness for almost four days...  
  
He shuddered involuntarily, looking around the deep darkness. He wanted to see trees again, and though they had only been in the blackness of Hadhodrond for a few hours, he was already feeling stifled and strangled.  
  
"Uneasy, Master Elf?" Gimli chuckled, "Does the darkness frighten you?"  
  
Legolas didn't glare. Instead, he gave Gimli a look that said, `Please, don't. I feel sick enough already.' The Dwarf seemed to understand, and backed off on his offensive against the fair prince.  
  
The tunnels were depressing for the elf, and he knew what evils lived here. He had heard stories, numerous horror tales, about the terrors that were awakened in Moria by the once-greedy dwarves. He was almost too busy thinking about what might be ahead to see the thin trap wire.  
  
"Gandalf!" He hissed quietly. The wizard paused, and then turned back to him.  
  
"There is a trap here," He knelt by the wire. Aragorn knelt beside him.  
  
"He is correct. Good eyes, Legolas," Aragorn clapped his friend on the back, "Now, let us pass it by. We do not need to warn any orcs of our presences."  
  
"What of those who may pass behind us?" Samwise spoke up.  
  
"Who would be foolish enough to follow?" Gandalf asked, leaning on his brightly glowing staff.  
  
Sam shrugged and became quiet once again. Hobbits were not as disturbed by the underground, considering that they lived in holes themselves. But Legolas saw the tiniest hint of wisdom in the small hobbit's words. He traced the wire back to the wall and cut the wire far enough away so he could tie a goblin's arrow shaft to it.  
  
The arrow would keep the wire taut, thus fooling the trap makers.  
  
Legolas, slightly proud of his work, stayed behind a little, to the extent of Gandalf's light. He wanted to be sure of his handiwork's lasting. When he looked up, Gandalf and the others were ahead. He walked quickly to catch up to them.  
  
Suddenly, the place in his chest where he had been injured so long ago began to throb. The pain was dull, not sharp, so he kept going. The arrow wound had been healed...why did it ache? Legolas kept pace with the others, being sure to stay in Gandalf's light and Aragorn's torch.  
  
There was a shrill, ear tearing scream. Legolas, taken utterly by surprise, clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the constant scream.  
  
"Something's wrong with Legolas!" Pippin called, turning back to the elf. Boromir frowned.  
  
"What happened?" Gandalf asked. Legolas was wincing in pain, trying to cover his ears. The wizard hurried back, and gasped when he saw the smallest hints of blood begin to seep between the elf's fingers, "There is a sound that we cannot hear! It is destroying his ears!"  
  
Legolas gasped in pain as the scream rose in pitch. More blood soaked his palms and filled his elegant ears.  
  
"Find it!" Gandalf thundered. He swung his staff. The crystal flew out of the entwining branches and clattered against the wall, leaving a smear of light. Aragorn picked up the crystal and smashed the small gargoyle that had been marked. The scream ended in a cry of pain, one that even they could hear.  
  
Gimli was the nearest one to Legolas, and he caught the elf as he collapsed to his knees. The elf took his hands from his ears and grimaced when he saw the blood.  
  
"Here," Gimli handed him a piece of cloth with which to wipe his ears and hands off with.  
  
Legolas was soon on his feet again, but his ears and chest ached horribly. His ears would be ringing for the next few days, but it was better than never being able to hear at all. But what caused his chest to hurt was beyond his knowledge. The arrow wound throbbed constantly now.  
  
It was perhaps ten hours later when he realized that it couldn't be night itself that caused his pain. His wound should be healed, but for some reason, it wasn't.  
  
Many hours passed. Legolas was thinking about home when Gimli gave a cry of discovery and ran to a room. There was sunlight in there... Though he tried not to show it, Legolas was relieved to see even that much true light. His relief was changed to horror when he saw the Dwarven tomb.  
  
In Lothlórien...  
  
All time seemed to blur together.  
  
Gandalf...He was gone...  
  
Legolas tried to keep his grief behind the doors of his mind. He knew, once let go, his grief could kill him, as it could. It was a curse of being an elf. Grief killed as surely as a physical wound. But, what he felt seemed to tear him apart from the inside, sending him spiraling through the wells of his mind.  
  
Lothlórien was a comforting place, but even the presence of elven magic, trees, and sunlight did not raise his spirits.  
  
He was dead...Oh, Gandalf, you left us at a crossroads. How shall we know what to do?  
  
The healed wound in his chest ached worse and worse as they came closer to Celeborn and Galadriel's home, deep in Lothlórien. He knew that the pain and his grief could kill him if he didn't not over come the rampant emotions that threatened to tear him apart from the inside.  
  
When they rested that night, after the council with Celeborn and Galadriel, Legolas was taken to his own room. He would not stay with the others of the Fellowship, a fate decided by him. He needed time to heal from the grief. The elven prince collapsed into the small bed.  
  
He let the tears flow.  
  
Pure sorrow wracked his body as he cried. His heart ached terribly, and his chest throbbed with sharp pains. Is this what it felt like to die of sorrow?  
  
Gandalf was a good friend. Now that he was gone, Aragorn would lead. Legolas knew the heir of Isildur was a good man, and had knowledge beyond his years, but only time could relieve the loss of Gandalf in their hearts.  
  
Legolas had never felt grief like this, he had never cried this hard. Gandalf had been like the wise old grandfather that had always been described to him by humans. Elves were close, but wisdom was shown is different ways than a heart-warming smile and gentle touch on the shoulder.  
  
The tears lessened, and he checked his reflection in a pool of water. He would have to wait until his eyes stopped burning red before he left the room. Having the dwarf see him like this would be unacceptable to say the least. No dwarf had ever seen an elf in grieving. Ever. And Legolas planned to keep it that way, even if it meant staying in this room for the whole night.  
  
Finally, when he did emerge, the pain in his heart and chest was gone. As he walked down the paths towards where his friends stayed, a pair of eyes followed him.  
  
Galadriel smiled at her mirror and thanked whoever could hear that she had the power to save the elf's life.  
  
The Three Hunters Run...  
  
(What was going through Legolas' mind?)  
  
First Gandalf, now Boromir...The dwarf is correct, the Fellowship has failed. How are we to help Frodo and Sam if they leave us? But Merry and Pippin...  
  
Legolas heard Aragorn's words, but they penetrated little. It was not until Aragorn commanded them to leave as much as they could behind that he actually began to comprehend his friend's words.  
  
"Let's hunt some orc."  
  
Legolas nearly smiled, then he glanced at the dwarf. Gimli grinned widely and yelled, "Yeah, ha, ha!" That brought a true smile to Legolas' face. To see a dwarf with such enthusiasm was not unheard of, but in front of an elf...  
  
He breathed deeply as they followed Aragorn.  
  
And, for once, his chest didn't hurt.  
  
FIN...at least until the next movie... 


	3. An Alternate Adventure in Two Towers: Mo...

Two Towers, the Attack on Helm's Deep…  
  
In a not-so-correct time…  
  
The battle raged on…  
  
Legolas stabbed, spun, dodged, and stabbed again, killing orc upon orc. His arms were aching, for the battle was long and weary. Arrows were of no use now, as evil creatures swarmed everywhere.  
  
A clunky sword fell, and he narrowly dodged it. The plank-like blade swung to the side, hitting the elf with the flat. Legolas slashed down, and caught the owner in the throat.  
  
He had only a few seconds to dive out of the way of an orcish arrow, and it grazed his shoulder. After spinning, catching the black arrow in the air, and firing it quickly back at the archer, the elven prince turned to the surrounding horde.  
  
And the battle became more deadly than he ever imagined…  
  
Aragorn was caught in mortal combat with an Uruk-Hai warrior, one who knew how to handle a human sword. With a little help from Gimli, however, the creature was killed.  
  
The heir of Gondor surveyed the battle with the dwarf at his side.  
  
"I fear the worst, Master Dwarf," He shot an arrow at an orc down below.  
  
"Why? We are winning!" He yelled loudly and threw a throwing axe at an orc which had made it onto the battlements of the castle keep.  
  
"I sense great evil, like a spell is being cast and we know nothing of its presence," Aragorn emptied his quiver of arrows, fighting, saving lives, and searching for hiss friends In the mob below them.  
  
Legolas fought in the far corner. There was a green-black aura that drew a large circle about him, with a thin stream of green that trailed over the far wall, as if it were a lifeline.  
  
Aragorn rubbed his eyes. There had been a small flash as an orc—no, a Rohorrim—was thrown into the circle. The elf inside quickly killed him.  
  
"Gimli! Legolas just killed one of our own men!" Aragorn said in confusion.  
  
"What?" As they watched, the green circle began to fade, and the mob of warriors swallowed up the elf once again, "What sort of devilry is this?"  
  
"Look!" Aragorn spotted a black figure fighting his way towards the battlement steps that led to where he and Gimli were standing. The figure was encased totally in black, and red eyes seemed to glow at them.  
  
"An arrow, Gimli!" Aragorn demanded. The dwarf dropped a half-empty quiver in his hand. Aragorn nocked n arrow quickly, intending to shoot the quickly approaching person.  
  
"Stop!" He cried, holding up a hand, "Aragorn, what are you doing?"  
  
It sounded like Legolas.  
  
"Who are you?" The heir of Gondor demanded as Gimli readied his axe.  
  
"You do not recognize me?"  
  
No sooner had those words left the being's mouth, than he reached back and nocked a deadly missile onto the string of his bow. It was aimed at him.  
  
Aragorn shot first, but the person managed to let off his shot as well.  
  
There was a shrill shrieking as a statuette tumbled off the wall behind Aragorn, shattering into little pieces. It was carved into the form of a creature known only to the Istari and storytellers.  
  
An Illusionist.  
  
Things that had not been were now revealed. Some orcs became Rohorrim, while dead bodies ceased to exist. Half of the swarming, killing mob disappeared, leaving many of the warriors of Rohan confused, but alive.  
  
Aragorn turned back to the figure in black.  
  
He had raised his hand to stop the arrow, but it had done nothing to save his life.  
  
A small piece of the statuette rolled over to the man as he trembled on his feet, then collapsed to his knees. The black clothing, the evil red eyes…all began to shimmer out of existence.  
  
What they left was a sight Aragorn was horrified to see…  
  
Gimli cried out in anger as the illusion around the figure disappeared.  
  
Legolas clutched at the arrow that was now lodged in his neck. Elven blood poured in torrents down his fair neck, staining his clothing.  
  
Aragorn was the first to his friend's side.  
  
His hands moved to the injury, but Legolas batted them away.  
  
"You must stay on your guard," He said quietly, agony etched on his features and in his eyes, "The battle is not over…"  
  
"Oh, stars! Legolas, I am so sorry!" Aragorn's words fell on fading ears. Legolas leaned his head against the stone wall.  
  
"Get that arrow out! Heal him!" Gimli demanded. He would not allow this particular elf to die. Never. He would rather die…  
  
"It is too late…" Legolas' eyes widened, "Aragorn, behind you!"  
  
The elf leapt to his feet and shoved the human aside. Four, then five arrows, all black, thudded hollowly in his chest, throwing blood across the stone floor. Gimli stared in horror as the elf stood, seemingly motionless in the air.  
  
Rohorrim attacked the orc archers, cutting them down where they stood.  
  
The elf just stood there, blood pooling on the stone ground.  
  
Aragorn wrapped his arms under his shoulders, just in time to catch him before he fell.  
  
There was so much blood…  
  
It was everywhere, sticky and red. The black arrow shafts protruded from Legolas' chest, evil and demonic.  
  
"Aragorn," Legolas whispered, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. He couldn't breathe…  
  
The elf's grip on Aragorn's hand seemed to be fading.  
  
"No!" Aragorn shook his head vehemently, "I will not loose another of the Fellowship! Boromir I failed, but I cannot lose another of my friends!"  
  
The light in his friend's eyes began to fade and the pool of blood began to overflow the edge of the battlement.  
  
Théoden ran up to them, his most trusted men right behind him. His elderly face fell in horror and in pain when he saw the slowly dying body of the elf lying on the cold stone ledge.  
  
Legolas laid back, his face calm, as if looking to the sky for help, "I just need to rest…"  
  
His eyes closed slowly, laboriously. Aragorn looked at Gimli, hope in his eyes, but sorrow in his face. They were too close to loosing another of their friends too soon.  
  
"Get my best healers here! Now!" Théoden cried loudly.  
  
Aragorn touched the elf's throat, having to reach past his own arrow to do it. The elf was still alive, but barely. Blood was slowing as Aragorn waited for the healers to arrive…  
  
"There is nothing more that I can do…"  
  
The healer's words rang in Gimli's ears.  
  
"Too much blood has been lost…He will die soon…"  
  
Legolas lay in the fortress' sick room on a straw pallet. The blood on his bandage stayed red, despite the best efforts of the healers. But he had not died yet. His breathing and blood-pulse were slow, but he was still alive. The arrows had been removed…  
  
The dwarf sat back against the stone ramparts. Aragorn was with Legolas and the healers, trying frantically to staunch the bleeding. Night was fast approaching…  
  
An exhausted Aragorn collapsed beside him.  
  
"There is nothing we could do," Blood stained his hands, "He lies in his last hours of life now."  
  
Gimli looked over the battlements of Helm's Deep, praying for his friend's admittance to the Halls of Mandos, the place where the valiant and brave elven souls traveled to when not to Valinor.  
  
For once, the backbone of this land held no comfort for him…  
  
Legolas watched the dust mites float gently in the fading light of the sun. He could have sworn that he saw his father's face in the drifting particles.  
  
Is this what it is like to feel mortal?  
  
He felt comfort in the sunset. His heart's cry flew on the wings of hope and prayer, to the setting sun.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Galadriel's eyes widened in surprise, and her hand moved to the silver pitcher she had just replaced. In a moment of recovery and intense curiosity, she gazed back into the large mirror-like sheen of water.  
  
It took a few minutes for the water to shiver, and then open, like a flower in bloom. The horrors of a battle opened before her.  
  
She saw blood…too much blood…  
  
One of her own was dying…  
  
* * * * *  
  
Thranduil stumbled in his stride, his head pounding with an unheard cry. He heard his son's voice, felt his son's pain…  
  
"Lord Thranduil!" An aide jumped to his side, "Shall I call a healer?"  
  
"No, it—it is my son…" The elven king's face paled deeply, "Prince Legolas is dying…"  
  
The aide's face went white as he looked to the others standing around them. They were all stunned by the king's revelation, as they were all friends with the prince. How could Legolas be dying?  
  
"I must rest…" Thranduil straightened as the beginnings of tears appeared in the corners of his eyes…  
  
* * * * *  
  
The lord of Rivendell stood in his personal quarters, watching the sun set. He had heard the heart-cry, and it had torn him inside.  
  
It had been a long time since he had heard a heart-cry so earnest, so sad… He knew whose body was dying as well, for the Ring of Power that he wore amplified the emotions.  
  
Elrond turned away from the once-comforting light and watched the colors fade across the far wall of his room. He knew that the Halls of Mandos were not yet ready for the son of Thranduil, nor would they ever harbor the elven prince's soul…  
  
Legolas' soul would never find rest if he died here…  
  
This was not meant to happen, Elrond closed his eyes, I know, he is not meant to die. If he does…I know not what path time will take. I fear for his spirit…  
  
* * * * *  
  
The large wooden doors stood before him, the golden engravings telling the stories of all that had entered those walls.  
  
Legolas was stiff, unable to move. The arrow wounds in his neck and chest still bled, but the pain was gone. His eyes were blank, as he saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing…  
  
The light slowly began to creep back into his eyes as he realized slowly that he could feel…  
  
"Where am I?"  
  
"You stand at the doors to the Halls of Mandos, but you shall find no rest here, son of Thranduil," An elven woman appeared in the white mist behind him, "Your soul has no place among us."  
  
"The Halls of Mandos…" Legolas was stunned, "What must I do? Wander the land of Middle-earth for the rest of Time?"  
  
The woman did not answer right away. She seemed troubled.  
  
"It was not meant to end this way," Her voice wavered, "Time was altered by an evil force that is beyond any mortal control. If you wish to save your own life and those of your friends, Laegolas, you must stop the alteration of your world."  
  
Legolas was slightly surprised when she used the Sindarin version of his name, as he was meant to be called. Living among the Silvian Elves changed more than was thought…  
  
In an instant, he stood in the room that he had been watching the sunset from. The rays were still peeking over the mountains…  
  
"No!" A growling cry made him turn. He started when he saw his own body lying motionless on the pallet. Gimli was bending over him, an anguished cry in his throat, "By Durin's soul!"  
  
Aragorn was slumped against the wall, his face in his hands. He was silent as Gimli growled and cursed.  
  
"He cannot die!" The dwarf was angry, but saddened, "Must we lose another of the Fellowship? Must the Three Hunters be split apart as well? How could this have happened?"  
  
Legolas looked at his own face. It was pale, and cold. There was no sign of the life that had animated it so shortly before. There was a residual mark of elven handsomeness, but soon, that would be lost as well.  
  
"I heard his last breath," Aragorn whispered, his voice tortured, "I…I was here when he did, friend dwarf…and it chilled me to the bone."  
  
"And there was nothing any of us could do to save him?" Gimli growled.  
  
"Nothing," The human warrior slumped even further down the wall, "He's gone to the Halls of Mandos, for I know that he was a brave and valiant elf. He deserves a place in the halls of the great beings of old."  
  
But I am not there! I wander! Legolas cried out, reaching a ghostly hand towards his friend. His hand slid through flesh, I wander…cold…there is a foul chill here…  
  
He could not survive like this. Wandering forever, knowing not what to do? This was torturous hell, no less…  
  
The sun's rays began to disappear.  
  
"Let us leave his body," Aragorn said, "We shall send a messenger to his father." Gimli took one look back at his elven friend's stone cold face and turned away, tortured by the thought of there being an immortal life there once before.  
  
The sun's rays disappeared, leaving the ghostly Legolas to stand, lost and alone, in his own death-room. He never noticed the moon rise, nor did he see the faint flicker of light on his skin…  
  
Throughout the night, he walked the room, gazing out the window, wishing that his father was there. The moon was near setting when the door's lock squeaked, allowing the door to be pushed inward.  
  
A small man in black crept in, muttering to himself in the horrid black tongue of Mordor. He shut the door behind him, still muttering.  
  
"Who are you!" Legolas demanded. He was as stunned as the little man, as his voice was fully alive.  
  
The little man cried out in fear, dropping the small bag he had been carrying.  
  
"A Shade!" He screamed, pointing at him. Finally Legolas noticed the soft blue glow that seemed to surround his body. He also found that he spoke, not in Westron, but in Sindarin, as few knew it.  
  
"What are you doing here!" Legolas demanded, "Speak!"  
  
"I'm going to die…" The little man whimpered, his body quaking. Legolas moved forward to catch him as he tripped on his own feet.  
  
Suddenly, he bucked, as if his heart stopped. The little man fell limp to the floor at the elf's touch. A shade's touch is death to all…  
  
Legolas drew back, horrified. He had killed this man with a single touch!  
  
Three Rohorrim ran into the room, their swords drawn. They all stared in horror at the elf-become-shade and ran, raising the alarm throughout the fortress of Helm's Deep.  
  
Legolas moved quickly out of the room, just as his own friends, Aragorn, Gimli, and the estranged Gandalf ran up the hall towards him. They all halted, the few guards behind them freezing.  
  
More Rohorrim ran up the opposite hall and stood ready for any commands.  
  
"Daro!" Legolas cried in Sindarin, crying for them to stop. He had killed a small handful of Shades in his lifetime, so knew the mortality of the spirits, "Diliohad!"  
  
His command was more mindless jargon than normal speech, meant only to confuse those who thought that they understood Sindarin. Literally, what he had told them to do was, 'Stop it!'  
  
Aragorn stopped, but his hand was still on his sword hilt.  
  
"Who are you? Why have you stolen the form of Legolas?" Gimli brandished his sword dangerously.  
  
Legolas responded in Sindarin, "I am Legolas!"  
  
"Quetin ú Sindar," Aragorn responded in slow Elvish.  
  
Legolas sighed, his hand falling to his side. His head sagged. It was then that he saw that his wounds were still bleeding, though they were not killing him. How could they? I am dead…  
  
"I don't trust him!" Gimli grumbled, "If Legolas lies in that room still, than this is no more than a devilish Shade. I say we kill it now and defend our friend's honor."  
  
"Lau!" Legolas held out his hand, concentrating. If he could speak only a little Westron…  
  
"I am Legolas," He struggled, his mind drawing blank after blank when he tried to say anything more complex, "I cannot—speak."  
  
Everything began to slow…  
  
The moon was setting, leading to the darkest hours of the night. Legolas could see through his hand now, as he was loosing his grip on the physical world. His anguished cry of frustration rang through the hall as he faded out of sight.  
  
Aragorn was startled, until he saw the moonlight. Then he was puzzled. Shades didn't just fade out of existence when the moon set. Only the sun made them disappear.  
  
"We should have killed that devil spawn when we had the chance," Gimli growled, "We do not know how many lives it will claim before the morrow."  
  
Gimli and the Rohorrim were on tentative alert, though there was nothing more that they could do. It was over now, for the day. Aragorn stayed in the hall as the others dispersed.  
  
He sagged against the wall. This was hopeless. If Legolas' spirit had been morphed into a Shade, then there was no hope of his entrance to the Halls of Mandos. His friend would wander for the rest of eternity.  
  
Aragorn didn't see Legolas' face in the shadows of the torches that lined the halls. The elf was still bleeding, but there was only the pain in his heart to tell him that he was not dreaming.  
  
Four years passed like this.  
  
Legolas followed Aragorn and Gimli throughout the War of the Ring. When the battles at the Pelennor Fields kept dragging on into the night, he used his demonic powers to save lives.  
  
The soldiers whom he saved called him the Fade, as he could only appear during the night, and then would fade away. Aragorn and Gimli felt that a miracle had been sent by the powers of good, but nothing the elf did convinced them of his reality.  
  
It was dark that night…very dark. The moon barely peeked through the black clouds. Legolas felt weak, as if someone had sapped all his energy.  
  
He was standing quietly in the throne room at Minas Tirith. Since Frodo's failure to destroy the Ring so long ago, they were all forced to retreat to this, the free people's last bastion of hope.  
  
Gimli was cursing and rumbling about the stories of miracles on the field. He was enraged at the events of that day.  
  
"We should have been able to turn their flank!" He slammed his fist on the large council table, "We should have! There was no way that we could have know that they were coming behind us!"  
  
Aragorn slouched slightly on his throne-like chair, "We've lost seven thousand men so far in this escapade. We just cannot break through that pass!"  
  
Legolas listened for a few more minutes before tentatively collapsing into a chair. One thing that relieved him was that, even when he was shaded, he could still sit and walk like normal people…  
  
His energy just seemed to disappear. One second, he was sitting on the edge of a seat, the next, his head had contacted hard with the stone floor. A few tiny rays of moonlight tried to shine through the clouds…  
  
"What was that thud?" Gimli demanded, looking around the otherwise empty room.  
  
"I do not know," Aragorn picked up a dagger from the tabletop.  
  
Legolas struggled to keep his consciousness. The moon was his life force now, and, when it was drained away, so was he…  
  
"Not another Shade, or Fade, whatever the men called it," The dwarf rolled his eyes and huffed. He paused, and then started again, gravely, "Galadriel, Elrond, Thranduil, and Celeborn were all at the funeral."  
  
"What do Legolas' rites have to do with a Shade?" Aragorn snapped.  
  
"Absolutely nothing," Gimli growled, "Considering that you did not even go."  
  
Legolas wanted to cry out, to beg them not to fight, not now, not when unity was needed so badly. But he felt so weak…after four years…  
  
As he lay on the floor, his strength disappearing, he saw, in his heart's eye. The forest of Mirkwood lay before him, the beauty heart-rending. The moonlight played over the leaves, making them sing.  
  
Gimli's cry did not faze him. He knew that they could see him, but he didn't care. After four years or fighting, hiding, and bleeding, he held no more strength for the world to take.  
  
Galadriel's voice came to him, soft as the breeze that played through the trees of Mirkwood.  
  
Legolas, your time has come. Make us proud to be elves…  
  
His father appeared before him.  
  
Legolas, fight the evil that strives to steal your soul. You cannot let him win…  
  
Celeborn, the Lord of the Golden Wood, appeared beside his father and Galadriel.  
  
It is a blood pact that you must break. Blood can only be broken by blood, such that you have been shedding to four years of battle and wear. It is time, Legolas, for you to return to your life and fight…  
  
Then he was gone.  
  
Legolas stood before a man dressed entirely in black. His bow was in his hand, and his quiver was on his back, reassuring him to his solidity. Pain welled up in his chest and throat as the old wounds truly bled.  
  
"You should be dead!" The man yelled angrily, withdrawing a bow of his own.  
  
"You killed me?" Legolas' eyes narrowed. This would be a very close shot. Too close…  
  
"I shall do so again!"  
  
The man fired off an arrow like lightning.  
  
Legolas had his bow ready, and fired. He dove to the side, much as the other man did.  
  
The arrow caught both of them on the shoulder, but that didn't faze them.  
  
Arrows flew through the night, missing flesh and piercing trees and ground.  
  
The hollow thunk of the arrows when they struck wood caused Legolas to wince. That sound always hurt him, deep inside…  
  
His momentary distraction did not go unnoticed by the man in black. His dagger slashed down towards the elf's head… 


	4. An Alternate Adventure in Two Towers: Mo...

Yay! Finally! It's done! Anyway, I intend on continuing this series until long past the end of the movies, once they are released. It may take me a while, but thank you, especially Cody, who got me going again. Thanks, Cody! This whole series is dedicated to you!  
  
DISCLAIMER: LOTR characters belong to someone else, not me. This situation belongs to me though! ^_^  
  
MoonFade, Part Two  
  
By Lothlórien  
  
Legolas dove under the attacking man's blade arm. One more second spent waiting would have cost him his life…  
  
…Only if he was really alive.  
  
The elf shoved his hand up, his palm smashing into the man's chin. His head snapped back and the all-concealing black cape fell away, the clasp broken. There was no time to wait. Another quick slash contacted solidly with the attacker's neck.  
  
Legolas had hit him in the exact same place that he himself had been shot by Aragorn, his friend…  
  
Pain shot through the elf's neck and head as they both collapsed backwards. It reminded him all too much of the agony he had felt during that fateful battle four years ago that had cost him his immortal soul.  
  
"You stole my soul!" Legolas pulled out his long-knives, a holy anger rising up through his body, "I want to know why!"  
  
A horribly familiar face stared back at him. A long black scar ran down the right side of his face, cutting through the now green and yellow eye. The right ear was mangled, giving the figure before him the ghastly appearance of one returned from the desecrated grave.  
  
A black, claw-like hand clasped the bruised, fair skin of his neck. The creature that stood before him was a ruined form of life, evil and good, one former, the other now, both melded together in one malevolent being.  
  
"Suildad, Legolas," The demonic creature grinned, showing sharpened, tearing teeth.  
  
"Suildad, Legolas," Legolas returned.  
  
"So you realize who I am," The demon replied.  
  
"You are my body, stolen and resurrected for purposes I do not know," Legolas, the real elf, clasped his long-knives tightly, "You are an abomination!"  
  
"Your friends in Mordor wanted you to join them so badly, young prince," The Demon-Legolas smiled even wider, "They searched for the place where your body was entombed, and killed the guard that stood there. Perhaps you knew him. Arandusin?"  
  
"You bastard!" Legolas cried out in pain and emotional agony. His friend was dead…  
  
"Ah, do not insult yourself so," The demon laughed gutturally, "You may be interested to know that this—" He held up his arm, where an ugly black scar ran around his wrist, "—is his hand."  
  
Legolas could say nothing. His entire mind searched for a possible way to destroy this creature of Mordor and hell.  
  
"But, do not even you have what you have become?"  
  
Silence reigned.  
  
There was no sound.  
  
All of the blackish, dungy surroundings had frozen in time. Only the ragged breathing of an elf in pain broke the utter hopelessness.  
  
Legolas knew what he was saying. He was ruined…  
  
His body was a demonic visage that killed and enjoyed the bloodlust of it all. His own immortal soul had been taken and twisted into a deadly shade that killed at the slightest touch…  
  
"I want to see what could have been if you had not intermingled Time!"  
  
With this crescendo cry, Legolas dove forward and drove his long-knives deep into the hellish beast that had been his own body. He saw his own mutilated eyes widen in pain and surprise, and he watched his own body jerk away.  
  
"My master, your master, has not yet finished with you, child of the Light," Demon-Legolas growled, his dagger ready.  
  
"I serve no one, fool," Legolas snatched up his bow and aimed one of the few White Arrows of Lothlórien that he had left, "And I will not let you continue to disrupt Time in this way."  
  
"You speak of Time as if she is a person," The demon sneered, "If she is, then I have torn her limb from limb, reveled in the drinking of her blood and the tasting of her flesh, and brought her to be one of my own!"  
  
"NO!"  
  
His arrow flew straight and true. It stuck solidly in the center of the forehead.  
  
And what had been his own skull shattered like glass.  
  
Legolas was thrown back as a malignant black form exploded from the wreckage of his former body. It formed itself into a black clod, evil green, yellow, red, and orange eyes, thousands of them, staring at him.  
  
He cried out involuntarily as the cloud dove at him, its tendrils wrapping around him. His long-knives cut through, but the black, cloudy appendages just grew back.  
  
"You have destroyed what I had claimed as my own!" The cloud's voice was deafening as it lifted Legolas into the air, "Now I will claim you!"  
  
The elf prince struggled, his strength waning even as his blood dripped from his neck onto the creepers.  
  
"You are one of my lord's!" The cloud thundered evilly, the laugh as toxic as the waters of Barad-Dûr, "Shade or Fade, makes no difference. You are a demon of your own making!"  
  
With that, the cloud squeezed. Legolas struggled to breathe as the blackness contracted more…  
  
Another vine of darkness jabbed him in the throat.  
  
His mouth opened as he tried to cry out, but a sudden, explosive rush of demonic blackness thrust its way into his mouth, nose, and ears. It was thrusting its way into his body, ripping him apart from the inside.  
  
He stiffened and screamed in his mind as the demonic spirit reached his core, his soul, his very life-essence that he had just regained only a few moments ago…  
  
Legolas could feel the demon reached out to envelope his soul, to steal it…  
  
"Legolas!"  
  
The young child turned, looking at his father with eyes of pure innocence, "Yes, my father?"  
  
"Have you not been told that it is dangerous to be on your balcony at night?" His father gently pulled him back inside, "You already know that it may be safe, but a good idea? No."  
  
"I will stay inside," Legolas nodded and touched the window-gates that cut him off from the nighttime balcony as his father walked to the door. Thranduil turned from where he stood, an expression of sadness on his elven face.  
  
"I wish that I could make this forest safer for you, son," He said quietly, slipping out through the door, leaving the young Legolas to his thoughts.  
  
Legolas choked, his eyes straining to see any light besides the hellish red glaze that flashed before his eyes.  
  
"Help! Someone help me!"  
  
Legolas ran through the brambles, trying to find his friend. He was older now, at the appearance of a younger teenager, but his wisdom and maturity had grown much faster than a normal child's.  
  
"Legolas!"  
  
"Hold on, Amrin!" The elven prince broke through the midnight foliage, just trying to fight his way to his friend's side. They had been riding together, not watching the sun, when they found themselves deep in the darkness of the forest.  
  
A devilish wolf was attacking his friend. Already elven and wolfish blood had been spilt by a blade no longer to be found.  
  
"Get away from him!" Legolas dove at the wolf, tearing him away. He felt a claw slice his knee open, and the blood on the coat made it hard for the elf to keep a grip on his friend's attacker. But he pulled the knife from his belt and plunged it deep into the creature's throat.  
  
Legolas fell back beside a superficially wounded, but scared, Amrin. He did not have enough time to escape the dying creature's jaws…  
  
Suddenly…  
  
White light erupted from his inner being, tearing itself from his heart. Streams of hot, bright light burst from his eyes, mouth, fingers, feet…  
  
The demon's shriek of pure, unadulterated torture shattered his ears. Utter agony flooded his being, tearing his senses from his spirit, from his mind, leaving him to feel the rending of his soul…  
  
Blackness…  
  
I cannot move, but I see…  
  
It…  
  
It is I.  
  
I am running, we are heading to find Merry and Pippin. The Rider, the courier from Théoden, lord of the Rohan should come to us soon…  
  
No, he is not there…  
  
There are strange prints. I cannot recognize them. Aragorn says something about going on…there is a white cloaked figure in the trees…I do not recognize him…  
  
Legolas became aware of the sky above him. He was leaning against a tree, overlooking a beautiful view of trees and plains.  
  
"Legolas."  
  
It was Aragorn…  
  
"I will take the next watch," He looked the same as he had when they were the Three Hunters.  
  
"But—"  
  
Aragorn raised his hand, "I will hear none of your talk. I know that elves need sleep, or at least a dream-trance. Sleep, my friend, and I shall stand guard for the night."  
  
Legolas looked back and saw Gimli sleeping peacefully by a campfire.  
  
"Back to the beginning."  
  
"What?" Aragorn asked as the elf sat by the fire and settled back against a tree.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Legolas stared deep into the fire, knowing that it was over. He would never become a Fade, and an ally of Sauron would never take his body.  
  
And, knowing this, he slept.  
  
The End…  
  
Not so! I lie! Of course there's going to be more, IF I get enough reviews. ^_^ 


End file.
